


Monosyllabism, or, The Art of Not Quite Nonverbal Communication

by commatme



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Steve McGarrett, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Schmoop, Top Danny "Danno" Williams, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-30
Updated: 2019-04-30
Packaged: 2020-02-10 01:46:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18650410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/commatme/pseuds/commatme
Summary: Slow morning sex is not something Steve ever thought he’d get to have, or even thought he’d want for that matter, but Danny has shown him a lot of things he never dared consider asking for before.





	Monosyllabism, or, The Art of Not Quite Nonverbal Communication

**Author's Note:**

> This is for everyone in the fandom who has been talking about bottom!Steve recently - you’re all very right, there _should_ be more of it, so here’s my contribution. This is the purest kind of pwp, with a healthy helping of schmoopy fluff to round it off.

The first touch of lube is cold and Steve jumps a little. “Sorry,” Danny murmurs, running a soothing hand over the curve of Steve’s ass and up his back.

By that time, Steve has already forgotten the initial unpleasantness and he’s pushing back against Danny’s two fingers, moaning right through the superfluous apology. He’s still stretched out from last night, so theoretically they could skip this step in its entirety and just get on with it, but there’s a unique, hedonistic pleasure to taking their time. Slow morning sex is not something Steve ever thought he’d get to have, or even thought he’d want for that matter, but Danny has shown him a lot of things he never dared consider asking for before.

He can now. He’s good at it, now. He’s had a lot of practice, Danny’s steady hands guiding him in more than one way. 

That doesn’t mean he’s a waterfall of words, suddenly. He drops his head between his arms, closing his eyes against the room bathed in early morning light as he concentrates on keeping his elbows and knees locked so he doesn’t melt into the mattress. “More,” he demands, putting all that practice to use. His voice is steady if somewhat embarrassingly breathy.

Or it would be embarrassing, anyway, if it weren’t matched by the way Danny breathes, “Yeah,” and complies easily, slipping in another finger.

Steve should be used to it by now. By all rights, after the number of times they’ve done this exact thing, he should be able to somewhat keep his cool.

He’s not. The sensations threaten to overwhelm him as always, from the slick slide of Danny fingers, moving rhythmically in and out of Steve’s ass, to that jolt of toe-curling pleasure when Danny crooks them just so and hits Steve’s prostate. That’s the point at which Steve is pretty sure he starts making some kind of mewling noise that in the broad daylight he’d deny even being capable of, but seems like the only sane response now. He’s already too out of it for it to really register, far more concerned with clenching his ass around Danny’s fingers and egging him on than with whatever his vocal chords are doing. 

The feeling is not limited to that one point, though, because there are also the little things, the more fleeting touches, so many of them that they’re as likely to break Steve down as anything. It’s the hand cupping one of his ass cheeks, the flat palm sliding down the side of his thigh and back up again, the tickle of fingertips along his side and the kiss pressed to his spine. It’s the sheer heat that radiates from Danny when he’s this close behind Steve, strong and present. Danny can’t keep his hands still, can’t stop touching him like he’s hungry for the contact even while he’s already literally inside Steve, and it makes Steve feel loved and safe and whole and wanted like nothing ever has before, even while he’s slowly shaking apart with lust. Nothing that makes him act this wantonly should ever feel so wholesome.

His cock is leaking steadily now, swaying with each of Danny’s thrusts in. His every nerve endings feel like stripped wire crackling with electricity everywhere Danny completes the circuit and he’s as stretched as he’s ever going to get and he _wants_. He wants, he wants, he is desperate for it, craving it in that way where there’s only one thing in the world that will satisfy him. Danny’s fingers fill him up perfectly and he could come just like this, as proven in the past, but he needs something else this time.

“Danny,” he grinds out.

It’s enough. For all Steve’s mental waxing poetic about how much he’s improved at communicating his needs, part of the credit should be placed with how well Danny knows him and knows to read him, because again, Danny only breathes, “Yeah.” There’s nothing quite like sex to turn Danny Williams stunningly monosyllabic.

Danny withdraws his fingers. For a moment, Steve is truly empty and seemingly alone, floundering in the aching loss of that physical connection, until Danny’s hands fold around his hips - one of them, the right one, still lube-sticky - and Danny pushes in. It’s a single motion, smooth and easy and from an outside perspective probably elegant, Steve thinks.

Then he stops thinking. He’s full. He’s so full.

He lets out a whine, or a whimper, maybe, and Danny is already buried balls-deep but Steve still presses back into it, rocking them both. It has the desired effect of getting Danny to move. He starts slow, with shallow strokes, working his way up to long and deep and goddamn life affirming. Steve keens and pants and moves with it and tries to hold on to make this last as long as possible, but he knows the thundering in his ears is the sound of the inevitable approach of his orgasm. The roll of Danny’s hips grows tighter, snappier, letting Steve know he’s not the only one perched on the edge and about to tip over.

There’s another kiss to his spine, between his shoulder blades this time, and Steve almost loses it right there.

Which is when Danny’s mouth gets back in the game. He’s babbling, pure and simple, but it still does unquantifiable things to Steve. “It’s okay,” Danny says. “Let go, Steve. I got you. I love you. I’m here. Come for me, babe.”

Steve gasps and heaves a dry sob and spills all over the sheets. In spite of all the build-up it takes him by surprise, and he’s still clenching up and shuddering through it and riding the sparkling white high when Danny stills, clutches at Steve’s hips hard enough to leave finger-shaped marks and follows him over the edge, coming buried deep inside Steve.

Steve collapses, giving himself over to the inescapable by not even making a token attempt to avoid the wet spot. Danny goes down with him, landing on his back like a heavy, sweaty blanket. 

He’s fine with it for a minute, because orgasm has an immense power to make a man gloss over uncomfortable things and as many parts of Danny are touching parts of him as humanly possible, which is pretty damn wonderful in theory. Then the glow ebbs, and he begins to miss the use of his full lung capacity and starts to notice that sharp parts of Danny dig into soft parts of him. “Geddoff,” he mumbles, muffled by the pillow because he’s too lazy to turn his head for better articulation.

“Thought we just did,” Danny says, and Steve doesn’t need to see him to recognize his tone as distinctly smug, but then Danny rolls off of him and Steve gets to verify that the expression on Danny’s face completely matches his words. Steve would go so far as to say that it manages to out-smug them by quite a bit.

He sighs happily and in a very strategic maneuver, worms his way close enough to Danny that he’s both out of the wet spot and within reach for easy trade of lazy kisses. He makes use of that for a bit. He feels fucked-out – loose and relaxed and like he went for a really long, incredibly satisfying run, but also got a lottery-winning rush of bonus endorphins at the end, plus maybe a massage. 

Danny brushes a hand aimlessly down his chest while they kiss. It stutters over the by now half-dried come that transferred from the sheets to Steve’s belly, and then slides with intent through the crease of Steve’s hip around to his backside. A probing finger circles his hole. He twitches, but entirely differently from when Danny’s lubed-up fingers first breached him, and Danny doesn’t bother apologizing this time. Instead, he presses the tip of one finger in and makes Steve twitch a little more, which Danny answers with a soft laugh.

“You’re a mess,” he says, voice and eyes and touch all warm enough to stand out as such even in the Hawaiian summer.

Steve tries for an indignant huff, but only manages an inaudible exhalation of breath. He tries to tell Danny that at least half of this mess is Danny’s own doing, if not more, but he fails even more miserably at that. “Yours,” is all he manages. 

It doesn’t get the scathing message across at all, but it makes Danny hum happily and put his come-covered fingers to Steve’s lips until he sucks them clean and then Danny kisses him, slow and deep, which may have been what Steve wanted to communicate all along anyway.


End file.
